


It tastes like love

by chaoticdean



Series: SPN season 15 drabbles and codas [5]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: 15x13 coda, Angst and Feels, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel Has Feelings for Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, Castiel/Dean Winchester First Kiss, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Fluff, Idiots in Love, M/M, Rewrite, spn 15x13
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-09-06
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:27:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26328646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaoticdean/pseuds/chaoticdean
Summary: Dean's hada day. They almost lost Cas, then Jack, got them both back plus one shiny new soul, and now he's freakingtired, andwhere the hell are his headphones?Or the one where Cas and Dean finally use their words.— A Supernatural 15x13 coda :) —
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: SPN season 15 drabbles and codas [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1609879
Comments: 21
Kudos: 187
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	It tastes like love

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of something I wrote last March. I kept going back to it and felt like I only brushed the surface of what I had to say, so here's another take. You can still read the first one-shot [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23331694). If you already have, some tidbits might sound familiar :)

So they had a _day_ , and that’s a bit of an understatement at that point. Going to (literal and figurative) Hell for nothing, coming back to find Cas not-dead-but-almost on the library’s table (Dean still shivers just thinking about Cas sitting lopsided in his chair and possibly never coming back), finding the Occultum, being threatened by Hellhounds (because that never gets old), losing Jack in the madness, getting Jack back with an all shiny new soul that turned him into a pool of self-consciousness and apologies…

_Man, they deserve a fucking raise._

Yeah, well, they’re not getting paid anyway, so Dean settles with a beer and some time alone with his music blasting only for him to hear instead.

He finally slips from his regular flannel-tee-shirt-jeans-boots combo to his pair of sweatpants and his old Zeppelin shirt he’s been sleeping in for at least two decades before he reaches for his drawer.

The soft knock on the bedroom door has him flinching as he tears the whole drawer apart looking for his goddamn headphones — they’re supposed to be here, he puts them specifically in that drawer to make sure no one can reach them and use them without his consent (yes, he’s that kind of paranoid when it comes to his music-related stuff. No one touches the vinyls. No one touches the headphones. And for the love of _fucking everything_ , no one touches the _goddamn_ record player.)

 _“Yeah?”_ he answers blindly, his back turned from the door.

 _“May I come in?”_ Cas asks from the outside, and Dean freezes.

It’s not like Cas doesn’t come to his room — he _does_ , and he has, as a matter of fact, more regularly these last couple of months. They had been sharing time just the two of them for as long as Dean could remember, but the get-together in their respective rooms after hunts were a new kind of thing they’d started doing a while back. Sometimes they’d talk all night — Castiel is a literal powerhouse of knowledge, but when it comes to stuff like pop culture and music, man, he needs a little guidance — sometimes they’d just sit together and watch a movie, and sometimes they’d go about their own businesses while sharing the space. Dean likes having Cas around even when they aren’t talking, the sole fact of knowing he’s right there being enough for him to feel content.

But Dean always gets a bit flustered when them spending time together here doesn’t come from him asking, which is why he almost feels nervous opening the door.

Sure, that’s totally why he’s feeling so nervous.

100% why.

Totally not because spending time alone with Cas reminds him how much he actually feels for him.

Or because he’s still pissed off about Cas putting his life at risk again without even batting an eyelash.

_Careful, you’re being delusional again, Winchester._

“You’re a weirdo,” Dean says, trying to put a smile on his lips but failing miserably so, as he opens the door and finds his best friend standing in the doorway, wearing his usual trench coat.

_ You're lucky you're pretty 'cause you ain't smooth, Winchester. _

_“Why?”_ Cas squints his eyes at him as he enters the room.

 _“You can always come in. You don’t have to sound like,”_ Dean stops there, looking at Cas’ head tilt, _“Never mind. What’s up?”_

 _“I just wanted to spend some time with you, if… If you’re okay with me being here,”_ Cas finally answers as he looks at Dean almost curiously, _“you seem pissed.”_

 _“I just wanted to listen to my music before going to bed, now it seems like my headphones vanished from this entire room”_ , Dean explains, _“But that’s not why you’re here. Something on your mind?”_

Dean gets back to his drawer and his headphone quest, turning his back on the angel.

_“You’re mad at me.”_

It’s not a question, barely a statement, merely an acknowledgment. It stays in the air for a small amount of time, holding questions and anxiety over their heads, rendering the space almost unbearable to breathe in. He can feel the tension threatening to snap over his shoulders and his back, and he has to catch his breath before thinking of a witty comeback.

 _“Why?”_ Cas asks, and Dean can almost picture him tilting his head and squinting his eyes over his back, and somehow it fuels his anger even more.

_“Why? Are you fucking serious, Cas?”_

He hates it. He hates the way his voice cracks, he hates the way the electricity travels through his words until it reaches the tip of his tongue, he hates that it fuels the pool in his lower abdomen with despair and growing rage. But mostly he hates that he sounds so fucking needy, he hates the way it turns him back into the kid version of himself who’s been terrified of losing the people he cares about for what feels like fucking forever.

He hates it, but he’s unable to control it. He turns around to look at Cas’ face then, finding the angel sitting at the foot of his bed, looking at him expectantly with these goddamn ocean blues that tend to make him go supernova.

He’s too pissed off to let himself fall for that right now.

_“Oh, I don’t know, maybe for the whole “not-dead-but-almost” situation? That was dumb as fuck, and you know it.”_

_“I couldn’t stand here and do nothing while you were running around chasing a lead that was very obviously fake.”_

_“Oh, fuck right off,”_ Dean tries to interrupts, _”your lead sounded just as loopy as ours did. Going to the Empty to find **Ruby** , of all people? Really?!”_

Cas just stares at him and keeps going.

_“Do you think we can afford to lose more time?”_

_“Do you think we can afford to lose **you** , Cas?”_

_“You didn’t!”_

_“You could’ve died.”_

_“But I didn’t.”_

_“It’s not the point, Cas. What happens when you gamble with your life again and this time you don’t come back?”_

_“As if you wouldn’t do the same,”_ Cas waves him off, almost rolling his eyes at him.

 _“Again, not the fucking point,”_ Dean growls in response, _“you can’t keep pulling this kind of crap and expect me to act like I’m okay with it. You could’ve died!”_

_“Who cares?”_

There’s something strange floating inside Cas’ eyes that Dean can’t seem to pinpoint yet, but he can pinpoint the exact time his heart breaks in the stunning silence of the bedroom, as he stares at his best friend (and quite frankly, _the love of his life_ ) simply stating that he doesn’t think anyone cares if he lives or dies.

 _“What difference do I make?”_ Cas adds, his voice almost soft, and there’s no real tension behind his words, but Dean can feel the sadness over them.

 _“You really think we don’t care? Cas —”_ Dean’s voice breaks and he has to stop to catch his breath because this is too fucking much to handle without enough oxygen, _“You really think **I** don’t care?”_

_“No, I know that you care, Dean, but I —“_

_“You make everything different,”_ Dean interrupts, almost out of breath, _“I can’t… I can’t keep losing you.”_

And there it is in the open. The whole reason Dean’s entire body went numb when they got back and his eyes locked in on Cas lying sideways, lifeless.

He hates that he sounds so weak, so childish, so broken up. He hates that he looks so flimsy, all the tension releasing from his shoulder as he sinks on his knees in front of Cas, pressing his palms onto the angel’s lap, lowering his head to catch his eyes.

Cas’ eyes soften then, his hands pressing over Dean’s in a soothing gesture.

_“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you pain.”_

_“Do you really think you don’t matter? Don’t you see how important you are to us? To **me**?”_

_“Dean —“_

_“Cas, I can’t even function properly without you around!”_

One of Cas’ hand reaches for Dean’s face, cupping his cheek in a gesture that’s so tender that Dean has to close his eyes on impact, his body not able to handle being touched properly.

_“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Dean. I’m sorry.”_

_“I can’t lose you again,”_ Dean says, opening his eyes and finding Cas’ baby blues so firmly locked on his that he could drown in it.

_“You won’t.”_

_“Can you honestly promise me that?”_

It’s a shitty move, and he knows it. They don’t do promises, mainly because most of the time they know they won’t always be able to fulfill them. And Dean _knows_ , deep down, that if the situation were to be reversed and Cas asked him to promise he wouldn’t gamble with his life to save the people he loved, he couldn’t do it.

Cas is framing his face with both his hand now, and Dean realizes he’s been leaning in, his face mere centimeters away from his, his dark hair gloriously tousled. And goddammit, if Dean had the nerves he’d kiss him right now because he looks like a sex-God and Dean loves him so much it hurts every single cell left inside his body.

_“I can’t make empty promises that I won’t be able to keep, and you know that because you would do the same.”_

_“I can’t lose you again, Cas. Promise me.”_

_Such a needy fucker, Winchester._

_“Please, promise me.”_

It’s just a breath at that point, and Dean closes his eyes again, unable to hold the scorching blue gaze any longer. Suddenly there’s a finger under his chin, tilting Dean’s head up, forcing him to open his eyes again, and Cas is right here in his personal space, on his knees in front of him, just close enough for him to reach.

_“Cas —“_

_“I love you.”_

It’s stunning. And beautiful. And fucking _terrifying_. But it’s here, out in the open for him to grab and claim as his own.

Cas’ thumb pads at his lower lip, his eyes asking a question Dean knows he can’t answer for now, so instead he just leans in.

And then Cas’ lips are on him, kissing him eagerly, and it feels like there’s no need to say anything else. It feels good. It feels pure. It feels like a bandage on Dean’s broken up soul, it feels like maybe the tear inside his heart might finally suture with time. It feels like Cas’ heart is on fire underneath his palm, and he can’t seem to ever get enough of the taste of his lips.

Dean pulls him closer and deepens the kiss, his tongue grazing at his lower lips and finally reaching for Cas’, the quiet moans that the angel releases against his mouth sending waves of goosebumps along his skin. His hands are lost inside the mess of Castiel’s hair, carding through the dark locks. He pulls back just a whisker, enough to search for Cas’ eyes for a second, panting.

 _“Dean,”_ the angel murmurs right there against his lips, and holy shit it feels like a shot of whiskey going down his throat and warming him up from the inside, it feels like a firework underneath his eyelids, it feels like the 4th of July throbbing through his veins.

Fuck. One kiss and he’s already so far gone it feels like fire coursing through his soul.

But suddenly Cas is pulling back and getting up, and Dean immediately feels the loss of his warmth against him, still tastes him on the tip of his tongue.

He wants more, he wants it all. Why is Cas _leaving?_

_“Cas, what are you —“_

_“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t…”_ Cas starts, his eyes lost, his lips already looking bruised, and so damn appealing Dean wants them back on his right about now, _“Your headphones are in the other drawer. You put them there the last time I was here because you thought Sam was stealing it from you.”_

And before Dean can make any move, before he can say anything, even before he finds the strength to get up and stops Cas from leaving, the angel is gone and Dean’s left down on his knees in the middle of his room, craving for the touch of someone who just fucking _left_ him —

_No._

_No, no, no, no,_ **_no._ **

This is _not_ happening.

Dean quickly rises up, tries to regain his composure (and fails miserably so, but who the fuck even cares anyway) and barges out of his room like he’s got someone on his tail.

When he pushes Castiel’s bedroom door open, he finds the angel throwing his trench-coat on a chair. Cas turns his head just in time to watch him barges through the room and Dean can see a mixture of surprise and…

_Fear?_

Somehow it fuels Dean’s anger again, as he violently pins him against the wall, his arm blocking his chest. Dean knows that if Cas really wants to, he’ll have no trouble getting out of his grasp, but right now he just stares at him like he’s unsure if Dean wants to kill him or kiss him.

And Dean kisses him. He catches Cas’ tie and wraps it around his hand and he _kisses him_ like he’s never kissed anybody else. It’s nothing like before, it’s all tongues and teeth and urgency and yearning. It tastes like blood and salt and moon and sun, and Dean’s so fucking angry he can almost taste it on Cas’ tongue, but mostly he _feels_.

He feels like his heart is going to explode inside his chest, he feels like his lungs are going to burst out of his ribcage.

He feels like somehow the world might be fucked and Chuck surely wants them dead but maybe, maybe just this time he’ll be allowed to have just a tiny bit of what he wants the most.

_Cas._

It's _always_ been Cas, it's always been _only_ about Cas. It's what he wants and it's what he's going to get, _and to Hell with it_.

 _“You don’t fucking get to do that, do you hear me?”_ the hunter growls, panting against Cas’ mouth in between kisses, his arms finally falling down as he presses his whole body against him,hands clutching the angel impossibly closer, _“You don’t get to make me feel like this and then leave, you don’t get to tell me you fucking love me and then leave me on the floor pretending like nothing happened.”_

Cas’ lips are still brushing his when he answers, his eyes clear and wide, steady inside Dean’s wild greens.

_“I’m sorry.”_

_“You don't get to have me and then toss me to the side when you decide you’re not sure, or —“_

_“I’m sure.”_

Cas unwavering voice stops Dean on his tracks, and the hunter just looks at him, stunned, finally leaving some room for Cas to move, dropping the tie to steady his hand against the wall.

There’s a shy smile tugging at the angel’s lips, and his hand is on Dean’s jaw now, fingertips brushing at the dirty blond stubble on his cheek. Dean can’t help but close his eyes for a second, trying to catalog the feeling.

 _“I’ve always known, for as far as I can remember,”_ Cas says, his voice soft, _“When I laid my hands on you in Hell, I knew. And ever since then, I’ve never doubted the extend of what I feel for you.”_

 _“But wh-why didn’t you say anything before?”_ Dean stutters in wonder.

It’s like Dean’s mind is exploding all over again, and the feeling of Cas’ mouth nuzzling along his jaw doesn’t fucking help.

 _“Cas,”_ Dean almost moans once the angel closes his mouth on Dean’s earlobe and finds the weak spot behind his ear, _“Cas, fuck — baby look at me.”_

The pet name comes naturally and Dean’s mind doesn’t even care right now.

_“I wasn’t sure. I didn’t want to ruin what we had. I was content with it, and I wasn’t ready to lose you.”_

_“But you wouldn’t have.”_

Cas cups his cheek, a smile on his face. His other hand travels all the way through Dean’s back, settling against his waist, sneaking under the cotton-blend fabric of his shirt to land on his skin, and Dean quietly loses himself in the sensations, lips bruising against each other again, and _again_ , and **_again_**.

It’s a couple of hours later, once they lay against each other in Cas’ bed that Dean finally let go.

It’s murmured in the quietness of the room, in the hollow of Cas’ ear, just for them to share. And maybe it’s easier in the darkness rather than admitting it in the light of day, but Dean doesn’t really give a flying fuck about it.

_“I love you, Cas.”_

It tastes like fear, and hope, and devotion, and everything in between. And Castiel kisses him so long Dean feels like maybe he’s going to drown in it.

 _“You’re not gonna leave again, are you?”_ Dean asks once they part again, smiling smugly against Cas lips.

_“No, Dean.”_

_“Good.”_

It tastes like ashes and moonlight and panic and promises.

_It tastes like Love._

**Author's Note:**

> _**rebloggable on[Tumblr](https://chaoticdean.tumblr.com/post/628546425954959360/it-tastes-like-love), ya filthy animals** _


End file.
